


Degrade

by profmeteor



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Desperation, Forced Exhibitionism, Humiliation, M/M, Non-penetrative Noncon, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profmeteor/pseuds/profmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shredder captures Leo and makes him piss himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Degrade

It’s a matter of waiting.

Leo can handle waiting: He has his faith in his brothers to ease the hours and aches, and so too does he have the Shredder’s arrogance, which always has and always will make him slip. All Leo needs to do is wait for that moment, or wait for his brothers, and he will make it out of this alive.

He’s been kneeling in front of the Shredder’s throne for — well. It’s hard to tell, but his shadow has pivoted enough under the moonlight that he thinks it’s been an hour. The Shredder has been — tame, really. When he captured him, he roughed him up some, taunted him, and then tied him up and left him here. The two of them have been in the throne room ever since; the Shredder has given the occasional order to his minions, but mostly has been sitting and studying Leo in silence.

Now, he sits forward. “Are you thirsty?” he asks.

Even if Leo weren’t gagged, he wouldn’t answer, and he certainly wouldn’t take anything the Shredder gave him.

The Shredder lifts his hand, gestures with a finger, and a Footbot chirrs and jumps down the stairs leading to his throne, hurries past Leo’s bound form. It returns faster than Leo would expect — and the Shredder stands, stalks down the stairs. He takes the water from the Footbot and bends over Leo.

"Here," he says, "drink."

Leo turns his head away. The Shredder hums low in his throat, then snatches Leo’s jaw. He rips the gag out of Leo’s mouth and presses the tip of the glass to Leo’s mouth. When Leo thins his lips and tries to turn his head away, he laughs.

"Do not turn your nose up to my hospitality, arrogant brat," he says. "This is the last time you will receive any."

Leo glares and grinds his teeth.

"Fine," the Shredder says. "Be difficult." He shifts his grip and jabs into the hinge of Leo’s jaw, forces his mouth open, and Leo can’t help the small grunt of surprise and pain, but he presses his tongue at the back of his throat right as the Shredder tips the water into his mouth. It spills down his plastron, leaves cold rivulets down his neck, stomach, drips onto his thighs and on the floor.

The Shredder pulls the half-full glass away and watches Leo a moment. “You know, turtle,” he says, “it brings me great pleasure to hurt you. I can make you drink this, or you can drink it without drowning on it.”

"No, thanks," Leo says, flatly.

The corners of the Shredder’s eyes crinkle. He slams Leo onto his back, pins him with a foot on his stomach, and covers his nostrils with one hand. Tips the glass again at Leo’s mouth so it pours in a thin, neat line into the back of Leo’s throat — and Leo gags, tries to cough it up, but the Shredder’s hold on him is firm and he can’t breathe — he starts to panic, catches it as soon as it crests.

He doesn’t have a choice.

He drinks the water with pained, thick gulps, and then drinks a second glass when the Shredder offers him that, too, drinks until his stomach is cool and bloated with it. When the second glass is empty, the Shredder backs away and makes a soft, satisfied noise in the back of his throat that makes fear twinge in Leo’s chest.

"Good," he says, and goes back to his throne.

Leo waits a moment, catching his breath. Licks water from his chin and lips, then rolls back up to his kneeling position — a Footbot steps forward menacingly as he does, but when he doesn’t try to stand, it backs up and resumes its guard.

Leo takes a deep, steadying breath, brings himself down from the panic —

He just has to wait.

*

An hour later, there is a twinge between his legs that he recognizes. He doesn’t move, but doesn’t tense or freeze, either — his brothers will be here, soon. They’ll find him.

As the minutes pass, the twinge happens again, at infrequent intervals, a tightness that he knows he won’t be able to ignore for long — maybe a couple of hours, a few if he puts his mind to it. He focuses instead on the tautness of his knees that will turn into an ache and the scrapes and bruises: A scratch on his shell from where he struck some metal, a few scrapes on his wrists and hands, a deep, steady ache on his lower back from being slammed into the ground, tension in his shoulders that will become a bigger problem if he stays tied like this for much longer, chafing pain in his wrists.

A twinge between his legs, pressure that is only growing.

The Shredder watches him, and waits.

*

Half an hour later, the Shredder stands, steps down from the raised platform, and goes to the glass that covers the water in the room. He crouches down and does something — Leo can hear a click like a lock — and then opens a pane of glass. The hushed susurrus of water rippling goes straight through Leo, right between his legs. His thighs twitch and he grits his teeth — relaxes right before the Shredder turns around to regard him again.

*

Another half hour, and Leo can’t pretend this isn’t urgent, anymore — he wishes his brothers would hurry, can’t help but be indignant, because something much, much worse could have happened to him by now, and for all he knows, they don’t even know he’s gone, yet. The pressure between his legs is steady, waxes and wanes in waves but never goes away entirely, and though Leo is doing his best to keep any of this from the Shredder, he can’t help the reflexive twitch of his thighs every few minutes, and he’s begun to clench and relax his fists to focus on something else.

It’s not working. His skin is still damp from when the Shredder forced him to drink — and Leo can’t stop playing that on a loop in his mind, either, which isn’t helping. All that water seems to be gathering between his legs. He keeps thinking about — about that, about wetting the bed when he was a child, about the first time Raph peed in an alleyway and laughed at Leo when he tried to reprimand him, about all the times Mikey’s made them turn around and go back because he forgot, about Donnie’s knees turning in when he realizes he’s been working too long and has to go, now, and —

He bites the inside of his cheek.

*

Another half hour, and the Shredder summons his men into the room; they stand in a half-circle behind him. Leo keeps his body tight, fights to ignore the painful pressure between his legs. Once they’ve settled in behind him, it surges, and he instinctively tries to shut his knees for the first time — winces when he realizes what he’s done, though no one comments on it.

The Shredder waits a few minutes in silence — none of his men are brave enough, or stupid enough, to speak first. Leo shuts his eyes — he’s going to — no, he squeezes his legs together, bends a little, and that helps stay the urge a little longer. When he opens his eyes again, the Shredder is walking toward him.

"You are pathetic," the Shredder says.

Leo’s lip curls.

"You are so far beneath me that to keep you as a slave would be a gift to you," he continues, coming to a stop very close to Leo — too close; it makes Leo’s hackles raise, makes him want to snap and claw and bite until he backs away. "I want all of my men," he says, "to see just how worthless you are. To understand that your victories have been a matter of luck and incompetence," the last word pointed, and Leo can hear Rahzar whimper softly behind him.

"Master," Tiger Claw says, but the Shredder holds up a hand to silence him.

"This is what the Hamato Clan is," the Shredder says.

He shifts — opens his stance — Leo braces himself for the killing strike; this must be what the Shredder was waiting for, to kill him and have him piss as he dies, to degrade him so thoroughly even after death that no one could think of him as respectable, but —

But his hands go to his waist, and he pulls his pants down enough to expose his flaccid cock. Leo snaps his head away, wrenches his eyes shut — he doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to think about what it means, but —

"He is afraid to even look at me," the Shredder says, pleasure dripping from the words.

Leo glares at him — into his face, as if the Shredder’s cock isn’t a foot away from him, as if he is hoping, for the first time, that his brothers do not find him. Not yet.

With a soft noise in the back of his throat, the Shredder begins to piss on Leo’s face.

Leo shudders and tries to turn his head away again, but the Shredder is unfazed, pissing on his cheek and bandana, a hot and steady stream of it that runs down Leo’s shell and plastron, that drips into the crevices where his arms meet his shell, hitting the corner of his mouth. It soaks into his bandana, makes it stick to his face. It pours in thin rivulets down to his belt, down between his legs.

Leo realizes, as it pours warmly between his legs, that he is going to piss, too. He’s not going to be able to stop it, not anymore — and knowing that makes him fight to keep it in harder, makes him close his legs fast and whimper and bend in on himself — the Shredder keeps pissing on the top of his head, on his shell, and Leo grits his teeth — he won’t — he —

He can’t. A trickle of piss escapes his shell — he stops it there, for a moment, and the pressure spikes, becomes too much, and he starts to piss just as the Shredder’s own stream is ending. Leo whines, but it’s just as much humiliation as relief, because it feels so good, letting it go, his piss pooling on the marble in front of him, pooling at the Shredder’s feet.

No one says a word; no one moves; it feels like it goes on, and on, and on, like his whole being is pouring out of him, and when it’s done, a few trickles dribbling out of him, he’s shaking a little from relief and shame and fear and a hundred other things he doesn’t understand. It’s — it’s a little like he’s just come, right in front of them, though he hasn’t, though he wouldn’t, but —

"Clean it," the Shredder says, and Leo looks up. He is staring directly at Leo. "Or wallow in it." He looks to his gathered men. "You are dismissed," he says.

*

By the time his brothers find him, the piss has cooled — they say nothing, maybe don’t even realize what it is, what happened.

Leo is weightless as they fight, as they escape — he is weightless as they drive home — but he is not sure if it's because there is nothing under his shell, anymore, or if there is only the same nothingness of scum on the hull of a ship.


End file.
